


The Lady's Heart

by MockerDelight



Series: Nonsense Stories [2]
Category: Bleach, The Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: Case Fic, F/M, Gen, Swordfighting, They left it ambiguous, Wizards, Women Being Awesome, kind of unrequited love?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2019-06-11 15:30:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15318537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MockerDelight/pseuds/MockerDelight
Summary: Ulquiorra did not expect to wake up. He makes the decision to try to be human.It works--until it doesn't.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Weird crossover? Yes. Idk if I'm going to update regular but im pretty sure im going to make it a romp cuz can u imagine.

_What is the Heart?_

_It was in my hand the whole time._

**_I’m not afraid._ **

****

**_“I REJECT!”_ **

 

Ulquiorra opened his eyes. Stars glittered coldly, the moon shone fat and baleful.

Not Hueco Mundo.

Around him humans shuffled and muttered in—English. A language he could understand only by virtue of being Hollow, able to communicate through the spirit sense.

His body _burned_ and he choked on a gasp, unprepared.

“—It’s not responding, you _said_ this circle would call what we needed!”

“This isn’t an exact science, man! The page is all smudged to hell, maybe we called the wrong one?”

“Tommy, that looks like a _guy._ This was supposed to call a demon.”

Ulquiorra grew tired of the byplay, flaring his weak spirit energy and snapping the binding holding him in like dry wood. He stumbled to his feet, annoyed at his own clumsy weakness. He was lucky to be intact, seeing as Kurosaki had fried half of his internal organs and last he checked he’d been dissolving into dust.

Before him stood three teenagers: two boys and a girl, gaping at him. He picked up his sword.

“Where am I?” he rasped.

Location was priority and then he could recover and make his way back to Hueco Mundo to start. Maybe back to—no it was a foolish thought. Aizen would have succeeded by then, his master would never allow something as unique and powerful as Inoue Orihime exist in the new order.

They all began babbling and one of the boys held up a…wand?

_What nonsense._

He tried to sondio, only to stumble and trip to his knees. Conveniently in time with the weakest blast of spirit energy he ever had the displeasure of enduring. No matter how injured he was, something that weak would never even leave a mark on him. Which begged the question of how they all could see him. The other teenagers had no potential to speak of, but they both tracked his movements as he slowly creaked into standing position.

“See! Everything’s fine I got it under control,” the boy with the wand boasted.

Ulquiorra lunged.

Before any of the humans could react he had snapped the wand and planted a foot in the boy’s chest, casually knocking the other humans to the ground with a sweep of his arm. He was careful not to kill them; it wouldn’t do to have Shinigami falling on his head if they noticed. He pressed his weight on his bare foot, feeling the human’s ribcage creak.

“I said,” he enunciated slowly, “where am I?”

The child hiccupped and cried out, tears in his eyes. Ulquiorra felt disgust rise.

“Answer the question.” He pressed harder, causing the boy to choke and his bones to bend alarmingly.

“You’re in Chicago, Illinois,” the girl shrieked, “At Oz Park!”

Ulquiorra removed his foot, leaving his captive to gasp and roll on his side. Tommy, the other boy, lunged forward to drag his friend away.

The U.S?

Ulquiorra had studied extensively on the world of the living to learn more about his prisoner in Hueco Mundo. He’d absorbed even more than that before he’d had to care for her out of pure curiosity and boredom. He knew enough to not be lost at the mention of Chicago. However, the U.S wasn’t under the jurisdiction of Soul Society. Any Shinigami or Hollow that found their way across the ocean disappeared. No Soul Society probes ever made it back from the country, or that area of the afterlife. It was the same for most of Western Europe, Africa and Australia.

Ulquiorra narrowed his eyes. It was best he traveled on foot and laid low until he could return to Japan.

A breeze blew the tattered remains of his clothes against his bare skin. He turned his gaze on the teenagers, huddled together and shaking. If they could see him, he must be on the normal visible spectrum. It was the only explanation.

“Your coat and pants, hand them over.”

Tommy choked.

“What?”

Ulquiorra took a threatening step forward.

“I will not repeat myself human.”

The girl gave a quiet scream, scrambling back as the boy stood and began stripping, terrified. He shivered in t-shirt and boxers as Ulquiorra snatched the clothes and walked away. He kept his stride from wobbling by pure stubborn force of will. When he was out of sight he slumped against a tree and changed clothes. The jacket was baggy, far from his preferred mode of dress, but it covered his hole and mask when he pulled up the hood. The pants drooped around his ankles and had to be belted with the tie from his tattered hakama.

Ulquiorra blew out a fog of breath, breathing in the cold air of winter. Then he started walking towards the brightness of human souls and the sound of the city in the distance.

 

He couldn’t open a garganta.

His spirit power had recovered quickly in the past few days, feeding on the ambient energy of the tangle of ley lines beneath his feet. Almost a jureichi, only the ghosts he could find were barely visible shades and had no awareness of the afterlife besides. No Shinigami or other psychopomp came to guide the spirits on. None of them had chains and they lacked even basic reiryoku.

It was unusual.

He hadn’t seen even one Hollow.

He buried his face further into the high collar of his jacket, hands in the pockets as he watched the passing humanity from a bench. His sword lay against his shoulder, wrapped in shapeless canvas.

Thoughts flitted across his mind, unhurried.

Even recovered, any attempt he made to open a garganta ended with him nearly ripping into a dimension completely foreign. It wasn’t an avenue he was intent on pursuing when weakened. His eyes followed a passing child; her hair long and a light brown that made something tug in his chest.

His heart.

He needed to get to Japan.

For that he needed money, his hesitant forays into the public library had been fruitless. He was usually swept out the door with directions to the next homeless shelter. He let it happen only because making a scene was the opposite of what he wanted in unfamiliar territory.

That left theft or getting a job. His pride stung ever so slightly at the thought of stooping so low as to steal from _humans._

Was working for one any better?

A little, but it was just a different flavor of humiliation.

His eyes followed a woman that walked past, squinting slightly at the layer of spirit energy hiding the iridescent dragonfly wings that dripped from her back.

The humans made a point to avoid him, features wrinkled in discomfort. The winged one wasn’t the only unusual thing he had seen. Men with cat eyes and creatures: large and lumbering. They all walked past him unnoticed by humanity, shielded by thin layers of energy that bent color and perception.

He flexed his reiryoku and tightened his reiatsu. The illusions had to be a learned ability. No two creatures shared identical characteristics and yet all of them were capable of accomplishing the spell.

He spent three more days on the bench, unmoving, as he painstakingly imitated the energy veils of the creatures that passed him. None of them stopped by or acknowledged him, anytime one caught his gaze they would walk just a little faster, uneasy with his dark presence. At least his hollow nature kept him from having to deal with worthless challengers.

When he finally mastered the skill, enough to hid his unnatural bone-mask and markings he began to wander.

The clothing was inconvenient and dragged on the ground, it would have been easy to steal or intimidate another set out of someone else. Instead he used his newfound skill to change his appearance into something more acceptable and went up to the nearest building that had a ‘Now Hiring’ sign. Mannequins posed stylishly in the window.

The door was slammed in his face.

He contemplated sending a bala through the door and lighting the whole place on fire. He decided against it for multiple reasons, first and foremost his desire not to make a scene. Cleaning up trash wasn’t something he took joy in and he had little pride to hurt. Without Aizen he was purposeless, because the Shinigami must have won. He wouldn’t be standing here if his former master still lived.

He turned and continued walking, knocking on doors and asking for work wherever anyone was hiring. It was tiresome and annoying, but he wanted to blend in with the humans, at least until he could figure out his exact circumstances. As far as he knew, humans had jobs and paid bills, running around in desperate circles to make a purpose out of their short lives.

They had purposes though, not concrete or physical like he had thought. They had _bonds,_ hearts, friends and family. He still didn’t understand fully, not the way the woman had described it. He _wanted_ too. The emptiness inside gaping, wanting for the first time in his memory to be filled.

So, he knocked on the next door.

 

_The Barrel_ was a dive bar. It was probably a front for the mob or maybe just a small business trying to survive in the hard streets of Chicago. Charlie had hired Ulquiorra on the spot, grumbling about useless bastards and practically throwing the wayward arrancar behind the bar after forcing him into an ill fitting, scratchy vest and tie. Luckily, the Espada was a quick study and his stone-faced expression refused to be intimidated by the local muscle and cops alike.

Soon his prodigious memory and skill earned him multiple regulars and a large pool of tips he dedicated to finding plane tickets and researching Japan and Shinigami. Most of it involved intimidating the local Fae into answering all of his questions. He learned about the Summer and Winter Courts as well as the Wyldfae. No information on Hollows and the afterlife was a nebulous and mysterious concept to all creatures he interrogated.

Karakura Town didn’t exist.

He bought an apartment.

Soon the bar top became his territory, study and determination helping him wrest control from Charlie’s lax fingers. He filled orders and determined drink specials, claiming paperwork and learning business with sharp-eyed interest. In no time _The Barrel_ was his in all but name. His only stumbling block was his lack of legal citizenship, which was resolved by Tad: a regular with a taste for sour whiskey. The document held up to casual inspection and he had talked the business out from under Charlie within the second month of being hired. The man had left dazed and grinning, an envelope of cold cash clutched in his hands. Not needing to eat or use amenities left Ulquiorra with more that enough money to spare.

He took out a loan and renovated the building. After two weeks he was the new owner of _The Lady’s Heart._ The third floor was retooled into an apartment, blank as a new canvas, as the lower floors were transformed into a dark polished bar and lounge. Green velvet covered furniture, dark and tasteful with low lighting. He could monitor the patrons from the downstairs bar with his spirit sense easily.

He reopened and advertised rigorously, attracting patrons with his unique drink style and boundless efficiency. People loved his cold ‘act’, calm and listening to any subject his patrons wanted to mouth off about. It was fascinating on a certain level, his lack of empathy not lending itself to sympathy. It let him peak into the myriad of human emotions and learn things books and research could never teach him. He had to hire two more bartenders to handle the new workload. Both of them were changelings: Fae-human hybrids. Curiosities, to be sure, but they were desperate enough to ignore his idiosyncrasies and dark aura.

His loan was paid back in full within the first few months and he made sure to treat his employees generously. Encouraging loyalty. If there was one thing he had learned in the months since he had arrived in this world it was that humans developed fondness over the smallest of kindnesses.

Omar and Tanya were valuable. It helped that Omar could light a whole room with the force of his cheer and Tanya had a worldly attitude that could comfort even the most cynical of customers. They both called him Boss and carved out a space for themselves in his regard despite their obvious weaknesses.

He’d disdained such things before, listing them as pointless, he who was born into the world knowing nothing but his own field of vision. No air touched his skin, no warmth. No sounds reached his ears. No taste for a tongue hidden behind a shell so thick he didn’t know that sensation existed before he threw himself into that glowing white artifice and felt it peel away the layer that imprisoned him. He knew peace in the emptiness until Aizen found him some indeterminate time later. Then there was a purpose, something other than the quiet. Now his purpose was his own, the desire to explore the mystery of the heart and companionship and experience sensation he never had before.

The violence of the other arrancar had never appealed to him. Pain was unpleasant and the emotion of anger was foreign. The woman had changed that. She was warmth in contrast to the cold clinical walls of Las Noches. Fanning foreign human feelings to life where nothing had existed before. Sometimes he traced the shape of his markings and wondered if she had simply awakened something in him. The acid green of tear tracks forever burned into his cheeks reeking of implication.

Despair was all he had felt, mistaking it for emptiness until the bright snap of curiosity pulled at his senses; foreign and unrecognizable. Now he wanted to _know._ What was the love?

What was happiness?

How do you make friends?

Helplessly, the warmth and feeling the woman had kindled in him grew until his own curiosity led him to his new place in the world.

Omar and Tanya carved their places with the breadth of their smiles and their sincerity of feeling. In Tanya’s penchant for bringing in her cooking experiments and Omar’s quiet love for clothing. It was the sensation of a new hand-knitted scarf scratching across his cheeks and the spice of seasoned beef melting on his tongue.

They became his in a way he had seen as so pointless before and sometimes still did. All the same they belonged to him and no other would be able to contest that.

No Fae dared try to ‘play’ with his bartenders, fearing the retribution of the ‘Dark One’. Unimaginative name, to be sure, but he didn’t have the time correct the assumptions of trash. He did have the time to incinerate a few of the foolish one’s that weren’t off put by his aura. A few Red Court vampires ended up smeared across the alley and a boggart or two burned into nonexistence before the local supernatural denizens got the point.

Tanya, his dark-eyed half-banshee employee, liked to joke that he was a machine: unyielding in his efficiency.

It was almost true, as an arrancar he needed only a few hours of sleep a week and even less to eat. Most of his needs were sated by the ambient energy of the ley-lines crossing thickly under the city of Chicago. He worked frequently, ate delicious food and learned all he could about his new world. Hoping, perhaps foolishly, that he might one day find a way to see _her_ one last time.

Like that a year passed, nearly unnoticed, until a man named Harry Dresden harassed one of his employees.

“—I _told_ you Dresden, I haven’t seen anything!”

“Look, Tanya I know you might not—”

Tanya nearly slammed down the glass she was currently cleaning. Ulquiorra eyed the cup for cracks from the other side of the bar where he was doing inventory.

“Look Dresden, I get that you’re just trying to look out for friends, but I have no idea who this ‘Dark One’ is!”

Dresden sighed and ran a hand through his messy hair. His heavy wooden staff rattled as he readjusted it against the bar top.

“Tanya, I’m the Warden assigned to this district and if some magic adept is terrorizing the local supernatural I need to have a talk.”

The White Council was the overseeing body for the world’s wizards as far as Ulquiorra had discovered. The scruffy man sitting at the bar looked nothing like one would expect from their powerful enforcers, feared by all practitioners. Tanya’s brow furrowed, her distress becoming more obvious. Ulquiorra decided that an intervention was necessary.

“Is there a problem here?”

Dresden looked up from his intent study of Tanya’s cheekbones, catching Ulquiorra’s poisonously green gaze for only a moment before focusing on his forehead. Avoiding a Soulgaze if the arrancar’s research was accurate. He wondered idly if he, a naked soul, could engage in such a thing.

“No—no problem,” the wizard conceded easily, standing up. He looked at Tanya, who turned away with a furious scowl.

Ulquiorra blinked, as he had to crane his neck to keep his gaze on the man’s face. He thought he’d been done with having to deal with ridiculously tall men when he had left Las Noches. Unfortunately, it seemed that humans could also be closer to seven feet than six, instead of a perfectly reasonable height.

He set down some bills to pay for his drink along with a number.

“Please Tanya, if you hear anything call me. A nickname like the ‘Dark One’ doesn’t exactly convince me this guy is playing with a full deck and he’s in your neighborhood.”

The door swung shut behind him, leaving the bar empty.

“Dark One—that’s what the Little Folk like to call you, isn’t it?”

Ulquiorra looked up from counting the beer fridge.

“Sometimes.”

Tanya shifted, looking down at the bar top and considering her reflection.

“You’re my friend, Boss—so you’d be honest with me, yeah?”

Ulquiorra nodded.

“To the best of my ability.”

Tanya scowled.

“That guy, Harry Dresden, he’s a Warden of the White Council—they hunt warlocks.”

Ulquiorra marked a few numbers on his inventory sheet.

“I’ve heard.”

Tanya sidled up next to the former Espada, expression concerned.

“That’s a heavy name you’re carrying around, you don’t—you haven’t done dark magic have you? Nothing to get you in trouble with the Wardens?”

Ulquiorra gave the question some thought. He wasn’t mortal even if he was guilty of doing dark magic, which he hadn’t by human definition.

He shook his head in the negative. He wondered, obliquely what had brought Warden Dresden to investigate. Despite what the man had said Wardens didn’t go haring off after every magic adept with an unfortunate nickname. Especially with the war against the Red Court taking up most of the White Council’s time.

He put it to the back of his mind. He had to order a new shipment of vodka and prepare for the reserved party the next week. He and Omar were also due to meet for lunch at McAnally’s tomorrow, a familiar habit of the nymph hybrid. The man claimed McAnally made some of the best barbeque sandwiches and microbrew in Chicago.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ulquiorra tries to be subtle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IM SO HAPPY I GOT SUCH A POSITIVE RECEPTION THANK YALL SO MUCH FOR THE SUPPORT! Also no beta cuz I die like a man.

Ulquiorra took another bite of the heavenly piece of food in his hands. If he had the capacity to he’d have groaned in delight, but he had some dignity so he restrained himself to a contented blink. Omar nearly leaped out of his skin in excitement.

“I told you,” he laughed, “Best sandwiches this side of town!”

The changeling took an appreciative sip of Mac’s micro brewed ale and leaned back in his seat, looking distinctly satisfied. Around them the room seethed with restrained and diluted energy. The thirteen pillars parted and weakened the auras of the people around them along with the configuration of the thirteen tables. Ulquiorra had admired the beautiful carvings and comfortable atmosphere as he had walked in earlier. MacAnally’s was what the supernatural community called neutral ground, protected by the members of the Accords. It meant that no supernatural group or entity could attack or engage in violence on the premise without inciting the wrath every signatory of the Accords. The new agreement was barely two decades old, so Ulquiorra had a slightly cynical view of the safety of the so-called ‘neutral ground’.

The other seat at their table rattled and a flush of chaotic barely controlled energy pressed onto Ulquiorra’s skin. He retrained himself from sending a bala through the smug face of Wizard Dresden as he casually took a seat, a bottle of ale hanging loosely from his ungloved hand. Omar stiffened and locked his gaze onto the table, leaning away from the wizard’s presence.

“Hey Omar,” the man said casually, “you’re a friend of Tanya’s, right? You work at The Lady’s Heart?”

Omar nodded, eyes flickering up to Ulquiorra as the man took a deliberate bite of his sandwich, annoyance flowering under his ribs at the ruined meal. The wizard’s invasive energy soured the taste of the food, distracting the man. It was a crime that the arrancar had a hard time forgiving. He had learned over the last year to truly enjoy sensation; eating delicious food, taking hot baths with glittering bath bombs, drinking interesting alcohol and sleeping in the softest of sheets. He always had to be careful to wash off the stray glitter and colors before he went in to work, a unique trouble that he found equal parts pleasant and inconvenient. It was a stark departure from his existence under Aizen and the blank white halls of Los Noches. In a way he enjoyed making up for all the time where he could feel nothing, filling his existence with undeniable and pleasing color. There was no easier way to ruin Ulquiorra’s mood than interrupt his pleasures, just short of hedonistic indulgence.

Harry Dresden was not only disrupting his meal, but he was also bothering his friend.

Another point against the man.

“He does work at The Lady’s Heart—I own the establishment.”

Dresden’s sharp gaze flickered to the bridge of the arrancar’s nose, aura drawing into focus despite the diffusing affects of the bar’s configuration.

“You seem like a sharp guy, Mr.—?”

“Schiffer.”

“—Schiffer, I’ve been looking for some information on a guy named the ‘Dark One’, heard of him?”

Ulquiorra let the full force of his intense gaze bore into the Warden.

“No and neither have my employees.”

Dresden leaned forward slightly.

“I find that hard to believe _Mr. Schiffer,_ considering the fact that the Red Court has had an eye on your block for the past seven months and have been getting turned into paste by the guy according to the local talk.”

Had it really gone that far?

Ulquiorra cut a look toward his changeling employee, who fiddled with one of his portable knitting needles, pinching at the fine wooden point.

_Inconvenient._

Before he could open his mouth to rebuff the wizard again a shadow fell over the table.

“Warden Dresden,” a vampire purred silkily, “a pleasure to meet you.”

Ulquiorra gave up on enjoying his meal as the cloying darkness of the vampire trash’s aura seethed into his space. Antonio Santos had been trying to buy The Lady’s Heart for the past six months once the usual strategy of slavery and murder didn’t work. The greasy remains of his thugs were evidence enough of that.

The arrancar refused to sell, uncaring of the Red Court politics and the shifting powers of the Unseelie Accords. He knew enough that he could tell that The Lady’s Heart had no real significance to the signatories, but for some reason the area that the bar occupied had become a piece of meat in the pissing match between the White Council, the Free holding Lord of Chicago and the blood-bags that liked to call themselves the Red Court. Most of the businesses on the block had been bought out or brought to heel except for Ulquiorra’s bar.

The arrancar objected to the heavy-handed attempts at intimidation with prejudice. It had the unfortunate effect of gaining him some infamy and drawing attention he wasn’t terribly interested in.

So the reputation of the ‘Dark One’ grew.

The vampire and the wizard exchanged barbs, air growing thick with tension as Omar began to wilt under the pressure. Ulquiorra’s reiatsu was a terrifying despair inducing force when released in excess, but he extended it to block out the worst of the flying emotions for the nymph-hybrid. The changeling leaned closer to his employer, eyes grateful. Neither of the fools embroiled in their argument noticed the subtle bloom of energy.

“Pack your food to go Omar,” he murmured, sending the man off and rising from his seat.

“Ah, Mr. Schiffer, wait!” Santos implored, disengaging from his petty argument with the wizard. Ulquiorra ignored him and shrugged on his light coat, grabbing Omar’s gauzy, fashionable scarf from the back of his former seat and casually wrapping it over his arm.

“I have said it many times, Mr. Santos—I am not interested in selling the Heart.”

Dresden’s attention snapped to the arrancar, energy roiling and sparking. Ulquiorra’s glamour fizzled against his skin, delicate weave sensitive.

The piece of trash grabbed his wrist and the arrancar nearly crushed the thing for it’s impudence. The vampire offered him a sly smile as he glared at the thing’s hand and decided that it was too stupid to live.

“I would ask that you reconsider Mr. Schiffer, that boy of yours is a pretty little thing. I would hate to see how terribly your business might suffer without him.” Santos’ face pulled into something like tragic sympathy. Dresden stiffened and bared his teeth.

Ulquiorra turned his hand to grab the vampire’s in a handshake, twisting his eyebrows just enough to look subtly worried. He had a hard time forming expressions, especially on the macro level and he was sure he couldn’t pull off a full smile if someone took him by the cheeks and pulled. He could manage small things, though and could fake them even better.

“Omar has nothing to do with this,” he cut his gaze to Dresden as the vampire grew smug, “Let us discuss this outside.” He added in a lowered voice.

The fool smirked at the wizard as he stood up, Dresden raising his voice in protest as they moved to exit the bar. Omar shuffled back and forth on his feet near the door, keeping Ulquiorra between him and Santos. The sensing ability of the creatures in this world were truly abominable, the vampire smug and confident even after having direct contact with the arrancar. Dresden was left in the dust, brushed away as they hurried out and Ulquiorra asked him to not follow. When they ascended into the streets of Chicago the blood-bag began talking.

“We know that you have a warlock somewhere in your employ Mr. Schiffer and surviving in the streets of Chicago can come with much difficulty, so we are willing to forgive your indiscretions.” Ulquiorra let the vampire lead them towards a narrow alley. Omar moved closer, eyes wide as he tucked a hand into the crook of the arrancar’s elbow. His hand stayed casually in his pocket, allowing the gesture.

Santos licked his lips and stared greedily at the changeling’s flushed cheeks for a moment before continuing.

His skin rippled unnaturally as they traveled deeper into the shade, away from the streetlights.

“However, the death of my kin cannot go unanswered for and you have been impudent for too long. We will be taking ownership of your establishment henceforth, but we will spare your life. With a little incentive of course.” He hissed, eyes locked on Omar’s neck. The trash looked victorious and smug as bat-like Red Court vampires crawled down the walls of the alley, hissing and bloated with blood. Barely worth anything and many years too early to think they could take down the former Fourth Espada of Las Noches. The pendant of a bone-white bat throbbed at Ulquiorra’s neck, a soft reminder of Murcielago’s transformed presence.

“How unfortunate,” Ulquiorra drawled, voice dead, as his hand rose in preparation for bala, “that you have led your comrades into death just as surely as you have yourself. You—,”

“ _Forzare.”_

Energy blasted past the arrancar, ruffling his hair by a fraction before bowling into Santos and sending the vampire into a group of trashcans. The former Espada had hoped the wizard would stay out of the predicament and allow it to play out. He had sensed the Warden’s roiling energy the moment he had stepped out of MacAnally’s. It had been a foolish hope; humans like him were all to altruistic and sure of their power.

“Let’s go!” Omar shouted, yanking on the arrancar’s arm and squeaking as another blast of force repelled a vampire that jumped at their backs. Ulquiorra allowed himself to be pulled along and crowded into a small car, barely dodging a smack from the staff the wizard threw in the backseat. He took a moment to remind himself that he was playing human and human’s didn’t send ceros through the back of vehicles to vaporize annoying vampires—and the rest of the street and a building or two. Ulquiorra wasn’t Yammy, careless and destructive, he had _control._ Omar shrieked as something heavy landed on the roof of the car and the arrancar sent a bala upwards by instinct, burning a perfect hole in the metal that glowed red with leftover heat. He slowly lowered his faintly sparking hand. Dresden gaped at him in the rearview mirror.

“Take the next left and head towards the Heart.” Ulquiorra commanded, eyes closing in exasperation.

The vampires fell behind to melt into the shadows as they hit the main streets. They were lit brightly by the passing bulbs, bright moons in the smog filled night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Ulquiorra, he just wants to soak in bathbombs and eat delicious food while arguing philosophy with bozos on the internets. Also I see Ulquiorra as someone who would enjoy the pleasures of life after Orihime 'awakened' him. I also have a weird headcannon that seeing as he lived in near complete sensory deprivation for most of his 'life' he can sometimes get 'overwhelmed' in his Ulquiorra way and has to go sit in a corner with sound dampeners and a weighted blanket while he looks at some static. SOmething he couldn't do in Las Noches cuz that would make him seem weak and there wasn't all that much to experience there in the first place.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeeeeeeey, I got a sudden burst of inspiration for a story direction but no idea how to get there >.>. Stay with me friend's a journey of badassitude and awesome waits in the wings.

Dresden kept quiet for the rest of the ride aside from some grumbling about the missing section of roof from his car. It was mostly due to the fact that Ulquiorra spent most of the ride comforting the hyperventilating Omar as best he could, which mostly consisted of wrapping an arm around his shoulders and awkwardly patting him. Comforting humans had never been a part of his particular skillset and he doubted that his favorite movies provided the correct reaction for the situation. Sex with Omar wasn’t exactly plausible and Ulquiorra found the mechanics of kissing as mystifying as Tanya’s ongoing affection for cats.

Nothing the wizard tried to say was acknowledged, the arrancar only piping up to give him new directions when he started going off-course. All of his attention was absorbed in making sure _his_ employee wasn’t somehow irreparably damaged by their close encounter.

The skin on his friend’s cheek closest to him was swelling, red and irritated. He hadn’t noticed anything touch the changeling during their flight; there wasn’t any reason for the wound. Only his bala, but not even the edges had touched his employee, the arrancar far too controlled to allow his power to harm anything other than what he wished dead.

Worry niggled at his fingertips, pressing.

The sputtering Beetle pulled up to the curb in front of _The Lady’s Heart_ with a defeated wheeze. Dresden wrestled the door open and unstuck himself from the driver’s seat, staff first and aura writhing with battle readiness.

“The vampires peeled off ten minutes ago, you have no reason to be cautious wizard.”

He explained absently as he exited the car. Dresden scoffed and eyed the dark road with suitable paranoia. Ulquiorra would have rolled his eyes if he were a lesser being; instead he unlocked the front door of _The Lady’s Heart_. Amused fondness brushed away some of his lingering caution as he took in the sight of Tanya bobbing along to a fast beat thumping from her headphones as she shelved the newest liquor order. She scowled as the wizards questing static aura wormed into the phone shoved into her back pocket, causing the headphones to cease function with a barely audible wheeze.

“Tan!” Omar nearly shrieked, pacing around the bar and throwing himself into the surprised woman’s arms. He buried his face in her neck and trembled as Tanya stared at Ulquiorra and Dresden over her friend’s shoulder. Her gaze was startled and a little fearful at the sight of the imposing Warden looming in the doorway. His menace was only broken slightly by his scuffed cowboy boots and shirt claiming that ‘ _There is no try. Only do_ ’ against a simplified drawing of some kind of wrinkled green goblin.

He was further undercut when Ulquiorra swept him aside efficiently to close and lock the entrance to the bar.

He gave an unmanly squeak as the arrancar nearly lifted him from the floor with a bare push of the shorter man’s arm.

“At least take me on a date first,” he quipped, rubbing at his hip.

Ulquiorra turned the full force of his intensely green eyes on the irreverent man before making his way to the bar with a wave in the wizard’s direction to follow. It wasn’t worth it to comment; he had learned that lesson long ago from pointless conversations with a certain Sexta Espada and his surprising—or not-so-surprising obsession with clever and insulting wordplay. Smart mouths rarely shut themselves when met with more words to twist and play with.

Tanya was sitting on one of the padded stools with Omar beside her, rubbing a slick burn cream into the wincing man’s cheek.

“What happened?” she asked, brows furrowed.

Ulquiorra tilted his head dismissively as Dresden scowled at the memory, eyes flickering cautiously to the arrancar’s casual form, hands tucked into the pockets of his light colored pea coat.

“Antonio Santos attempted to make an offer I couldn’t refuse,” he explained succinctly, “you and Omar will be staying with me in the apartment for the foreseeable future.”

Omar jerked and sputtered.

“ _What?”_

Dresden hummed, scratching his chin.

“Yeah, a Red Court Lord like Santos wouldn’t leave any of you alone after something like that.” His sharp gaze wandered critically over the arrancar, who gave him a disaffected stare.

“You seem to have the power to take them on, but you can’t hole up in your apartment forever.”

Ulquiorra’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

“I don’t remember asking for your opinion Warden.”

Dresden smirked and Tanya bit her lip, gaze jumping between the two men as Omar moaned about his recent fabric order and the fashion expo he had planned to attend in two days.

“Well you have it _Dark One._ You seem smart enough, so you have to know that you can’t fight the Reds off forever,” his eyes flickered to Tanya and his tone softened into something a little less acerbic, “I felt a bit of your magic back there, with power like that the White Council can definitely offer some protection.”

The PI license the wizard had claim to wasn’t unearned, the clues falling together cleanly. Fortunately the wizard seemed true to his statement of not meaning Ulquiorra any harm as the possessor of the moniker he had been chasing.

Ulquiorra let his coat drop to his elbows, swinging it on to the rack near one of the lounge chairs.

“I do not plan to fight them off,” he informed the wizard dryly, “I _plan_ to exterminate them like the pests they are.”

Dresden gaped at him along with the two changelings sitting at the bar.

“ _Boss!”_

_“_ You can’t be serious! You might have some raw power but the Reds are _monsters, and_ they have an eye on you.”

Dresden grimaced.

“That’s arrogant Schiffer. _You_ might be strong enough to survive a fight but _Tanya isn’t_ and neither is Omar.”

Ulquiorra paused in rolling up his sleeves. Damn him, the Warden was right. While it would take nothing less than an equivalent of a direct nuclear strike to harm the Espada, Omar and Tanya were far more delicate and as humans could not be kept within his sight at all times. It was doubly dangerous to leave them on their own as he went to gallivant about exterminating the Red Court trash. They would be as vulnerable as baby chicks exposed from their nest in sight of a fox.

“The White Council can’t offer them help as a Signatory, but we _can_ help _you_ and by extension them.”

Ulquiorra turned to study the shiny skin of Omar’s injured cheek. He needed to keep them safe while he destroyed the Red Court fools. He needed to kill enough of them to put the fear of Hollow in them and keep his property and new life safe.

“Can you two entreat the Fae of the Courts for protection?”

Tanya scoffed, expression wry. Omar hunched under the inquiry.

“The Courts wouldn’t give a flying fuck about us even if we still fell under their _protection._ As soon as we agreed to work here we were expunged from the Courts.”

Dresden’s eyebrows jumped to his hairline.

“You’re chang—no, just like that? Doesn’t seem much like the Fae to just…let you go like that.”

Tanya glared at the wizard and turned back to the arrancar.

“Ma just tittered something about dangerous hybrids flocking and told me that I would ‘no longer be of Winter’ if I placed myself under you’re employ,” she rolled her eyes and smirked, “I couldn’t fill out that work application fast enough, trust me.”

Omar looked away with a blush and a muttered, “Same,” when Ulquiorra sent him an inquisitive look.

Dresden grimaced, brow furrowed with worry as he stepped closer to Ulquiorra. The arrancar stepped back purely to avoid craning his neck ridiculously to meet the human’s eyes.

“You see? I’m not joking here, we need to find you all somewhere safe before the Reds _really_ get serious.”

Ulquiorra contemplated it, eyes closing. He _could_ pledge himself to the wizard’s governing body, find accommodations for his employees to avoid their deaths and take advantage of the resources to research magic. His thoughts caught on the image of bright hair and a voice silken yet filled with steel.

_No._

He would not pledge himself to the cause of another, never again. He had his _own_ purpose, the independence of life and freedom from the shackles of emptiness that had tied him down so long. He wouldn’t compromise that freedom for ease, ever. Ulquiorra would find his own way to resolve the situation.

Omar’s stare was flinty when Ulquiorra met it and Tanya gave a little nod. Omar was a soft man, unsuited to the rigors of life among the Fae. He had survived to adulthood regardless and that said something about his spirit that many never confronted. Tanya's loyalty would never waver. They trusted his decision no matter what it was.

“I will have to respectfully decline Warden Dresden,” Ulquiorra said turning his gaze upward and barely missing the tug of something foreign when he met the wizard’s gaze for a moment too long before focusing on his nose.

So it _was_ possible for him to engage in a Soulgaze. Best not to test it, there was no telling what a glimpse of a Hollow’s soul could do to a human.

Dresden went red, eyes wide.

“ _Are you really_ —,” his staff flared with power, runes smoldering and causing Omar to flinch away from his imposing figure. The wizard visibly forced himself to calm, gaze catching on the forms of Tanya and Omar clutching hands together with their shoulders hunched.

Ulquiorra stared him down, straight-backed.

The wizard blew a breath through his nose, digging into the pockets of his voluminous duster. After a few incongruous artifacts such as a squeaky toy, a shrunken head, and a bag of half-eaten chips were pulled out and returned he came across a piece of paper and a pen.

He scribbled a few numbers on it.

“This is my number and a few from the Paranet, a communication network for practitioners.”

He cast a narrow look over all of them.

“I can’t help someone who doesn’t want to be helped, but I plan to do some investigating of my own into everything,” he handed the paper to Ulquiorra, “ _contact me_ if you run into anything you can’t handle.”

The wizard’s mouth was tight and his expression pained. Ulquiorra could appreciate the man’s respect for his wishes, as annoying as the wizard had been about the whole process. Dresden’s steps when he exited were heavy and he lingered in the doorway as if to take in the scene of Tanya stroking Omar’s drooping head and Ulquiorra’s statue-like posture as he began thinking of his possibilities.

Then he left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Harry, he tries so hard. But his involvement wont end here though, he's a nosy fuck. How else did you think he got that job as a PI? As an adult he knows he can't help people who don't want to be helped tho.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IM BACK!!! This chapter has been a struggle to write, cuz i'm trying to iron out the kinks and make the side characters fleshy without making them too much of a focus. Its hard when most of the beginning plot has to do with GETTING THEM OUT of the way and all.

Omar and Tanya didn’t adapt well to sharing a space with Ulquiorra. As they needed much more sleep then him he ended up staying up in the dark to pursue his hobbies and research. The amount of annoyance he felt at finding his fridge absent of food items when he looked for whip to go with his ice cream was only dwarfed by his incredulity when he looked up to be beaned in the head with a book as Tanya’s feet pattered back down the hall trailing a low panicked, “ _Holyfuckhiteyes.”_

A week passed by full of research and general adjustments that left Tanya tired and sour. Omar flourished in the company of his friends, a true social creature, even if he had to run screaming into his room the one time Tanya groggily walked out of attic room without a shirt.

“ _Omygod_ Tanya I can see your tits!”

Ulquiorra didn’t really understand his over-the-top mortification, but the arrancar guessed that most men hadn’t spent time around Tia Harribel and her fraccion.

Omar’s red, irritated cheek had recovered admirably; the burn had resulted from the radiation of spirit energy put off from Ulquiorra’s bala when he had exterminated their vampire attacker the week before.

The arrancar had bought and killed a cadre of plants trying to figure out the mechanics of how the living reacted to his spirit energy after he had realized that worrying fact. In theory it made sense that his energy would harm mortals, enough spirit pressure and they crumpled like flies underfoot, but if that was the case, how had he not killed everyone he had interacted with since his arrival?

So far he was reasonably sure that his glamour was the thing keeping his suppressed reiatsu from overwhelming the people around him, other than his iron control. The delicate weave of spirit energy trapped any radiation that tried to escape. The thin layer was complicated but weak, keeping it from causing any undue trouble to the mortal world. If the problem was as bad as he thought it was he was going to have much more difficulty destroying the Red trash than he thought.

Like Omar, it was safe to assume that most mortals could recover from exposure quickly. A cero was out of the question, several steps above a bala as it was. The large-scale destruction and radiation would be the equivalent of dropping a mini nuclear device wherever he set it off.

He had taken the time to visit Oz Park, his original landing spot after he realized the danger. Even a year later everything within a ten foot radius of his arrival was dead, the soil poisonous to life.

The experiments wouldn’t move on to sentient subjects because much of his time was occupied with locating the chapter of Red Court vampires trying to take over his bar _and_ kill _his_ employees. Thinking of even one of their grubby claws touching the polished wood of _The Lady’s Heart_ ’s made him want to throw all precautions to the wind and carpet bomb the closest district that had even a hint of their presence. However, Ulquiorra was the Cuatro Espada and had the control to restrain himself. He had nothing but disdain for those who let their emotions take complete control of their actions.

His search hit dead-ends; the Little Folk were elusive and had techniques that rendered them uncatchable to the former Espada. None of his computer sleuthing found results, some of the reason being that he had no Intel regarding Red Court holdings or the shell corporations that they used to shuffle their money. He hadn’t fostered many friendly relations with the local supernatural and the Paranet, the information network Dresden had recommended him, focused on repelling and avoiding the blood-bags rather than locating their nests.

Ulquiorra decided to table finding the location of the vampires after the first week. He had to find a suitable weapon to exterminate the trash, first, as using Murcielago was the equivalent of using a cero. It stung his pride slightly to use anything less than his own sword, but most of an arrancar’s reiatsu was suppressed with their swords in their scabbard. Like shinigami, pulling one’s blade allowed their leashed spiritual pressure to unfurl. Raising one’s pressure _could_ be voluntary, but suppressing while wielding the naked blade of their power was beyond even Aizen.

He would have to prioritize finding a safe house for his employees and locating a suitable weapon.

“Can I go back to my apartment yet?” Tanya whined into her oatmeal.

Ulquiorra flicked his gaze up from his computer before returning to his search of novelty-blade sites. Her home was outside the range of his senses, curtailed heavily by the ley-lines underfoot and the seething mass that was the populace of Chicago.

“No.”

Omar hummed as he scooped some breakfast from the steaming pot on the stove and added a smattering of cinnamon to his meal.

“Sweet Jesus!,” he moaned as he covered his eyes after catching sight of Tanya, “button your shirt girl!”

Tanya rolled her eyes and slurped at her glass of OJ.

“Don’t be a baby, you can’t even see my nipples.”

Omar made a defeated sound and slumped onto one of the stools at the marble bar top that separated the kitchen from the sitting room. Tanya flicked a bit of juice at him, before turning back to the arrancar.

“What’s up with the problem solving Boss? Any luck?”

Ulquiorra treated her to a deadpan stare.

“Not much, I am having a bit of trouble finding a place to store you until the problem is taken care of.”

Omar stared at him flatly from over his own bowl of oatmeal while Tanya’s head hit the table with a dull thump.

“You mean a safe house, so we’re y’know, _safe_.”

“That’s what I said.”

Tanya muttered something into her folded arms. Omar kneaded at his forehead, his voice sounded pained.

“ _That isn’t_ —never mind. Boss, why can’t we just stay here? You must have some wards or something.”

Ulquiorra hadn’t seen the point of casting spells or finding wards for his bar. He lived in the building, which was all the protection it needed. With his power’s nature it was fortunate that he hadn’t tried to do anything or he would have destroyed any clientele that walked in the door.

“Such things aren’t my specialty,” the arrancar answered, closing his laptop decisively, “the Fae Courts can’t take you and neither will the White Council, protection under the Accords is the best way to deter the Reds.”

Tanya looked up with a thoughtful scowl.

“You’re some kind of super scion and you can’t deter them? Well, fuck it. We might as well give up now.”

Scion? A hybrid of non-Fae descent was a decent guess for his status, as he refused to divulge any information about his heritage. It would be a convenient fiction.

“You will do no such thing,” he reprimanded as Tanya squinted at her fingers miserably, “I simply need to find a way to contact the Baron of Chicago.”

John Marcone was the least risky option of all the choices and would be the most reasonable to negotiation. Ulquiorra could trust such a prolific criminal to act in his own self-interest and the arrancar brought enough power to the table to confidently pull a contract of protection from the man.

“Okay—um, how did we go from _safehouses,_ to provoking the goddamn mob Outfit?” Tanya asked, incredulous.

“I think Dresden knows the guy,” Omar hummed as he scrolled through his Twitter and looked up the Johnny Marcone hashtag.

He raised his eyebrows when he came across a magazine shoot for one of the man’s charitable causes; a smirk crawled across his lips.

“He could protect _me_ all night.”

Tanya kicked his shin, making the man cringe and whine.

“We are _not_ encouraging this,” she hissed.

Ulquiorra felt a sliver of amusement at their antics.

“I didn’t say I wanted to start a fight,” he corrected her, ignoring her muttered _“—that’s what you always say,”_ with the ease of long practice. Ulquiorra talked and people should listen, if they got upset over the way he said things it was entirely their own fault when they got thrown through a brick wall, or a table, or off the roof.

“I simply wanted to negotiate protection for the _Heart_ and the both of you until I can resolve the situation.”

Omar yanked Warden Dresden’s information off the fridge and handed it to Ulquiorra with a feverish look in his eye.

“Sounds good to me.”

Tanya gave an outraged gasp.

“Omar—”

The man held up a hand.

“I love you both as much as a man can love his friends, but _I don’t have roommates for a reason._ If I get cockblocked,” a pointed look at Ulquiorra, “or forced to stare at your naked body anymore,” he grimaced at Tanya, “ _I will murder you both.”_

The effect of his speech was slightly ruined by the fact that his hair was twisted into a messy afro and that the changeling was about as intimidating as a chipmunk. Ulquiorra attributed it to the man’s nymph heritage, that and his inability to hold on to negative emotions for any length of time.

Tanya didn’t share Ulquiorra’s opinion.

“Okay,” she squeaked, leaning back from her friend’s hunched form.

Ulquiorra nodded and stood; he only took a moment to grab a jacket on his way to the stairs.

“Don’t sell the Trinity vodka in the back, that’s for the Hua party next week. Make sure you dust the lights and polish the chairs.” He ordered as he opened the door and adjusted his scarf.

“Yes Mother!” Omar sang, as he typed on his phone.

Tanya answered with a more subdued, “Yes Boss.”

Ulquiorra went left without further ado, he had a wizard to find.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and then they were roommates. (not for long)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sup life's kicking my ass and there's been a death in the family so this might be the last chapter I put up for a good minute, sorry :/.

Finding Dresden wasn’t the difficult part. The man’s raw energy dwarfed most other humans, even through the haze of the ley lines. It would amaze Ulquiorra, but frankly, his own measuring stick for impressive humans didn’t allow for it. Once you’ve been confronted by Ichigo Kurosaki and taken his sword to the chest, humans ceased to surprise you.

Ulquiorra ended up following the energy signature like a bloodhound, smug about the ease of the task. This, at least, was not causing him any difficulties. Unlike locating the Reds, finding a safe house, and pinpointing the last piece of his Fuzzy Kitty jigsaw puzzle. He suspected that Tanya had hidden it out of spite, but inquiries had been useless. His usual strategy of intimidation and power had fallen flat before the woman’s unimpressed look.

The arrancar had been once again disgruntled to realize that most interpersonal relations couldn’t be solved with the prompt application of violence. Another reason to get her and Omar out of the apartment as soon as possible, other than the fact that Tanya was using his weighted blanket; depriving him of its comforting presence. The ridiculous woman had looked absolutely wounded when he had tried to reclaim it. The former Espada’s memory of Orihime Inoue had hit him in the chest like a Gran Ray Cero and he had ended up letting the woman have it.

If only he had to room with Omar alone. He, at least, did not leave his foundation powdered all over the sink. The shade was much too light to belong to the nymph hybrid.

Ulquiorra passed into a better neighborhood where the tenements were a little less crumbling and people walked around without hunching under their clothes, fearful of scrutiny. Even the sun seemed brighter as he blinked at the heavily decorated sign of a local Chinese restaurant. The smell of duck blood soup wafted from the open door when a pair of young girls hurried out, giggling.

Mouth watering, Ulquiorra made note to come back to visit the eatery. He walked past a young woman busking near a bus stop, her dreads bouncing to the beat of her drumsticks. An energy as steady and bright as a magnesium flare began moving towards Dresden’s location. He stopped to take in the noise and passion the busker’s music, gaze wandering over the street. As he listened to the rattle-thump of sound he analyzed the new energy that approached Dresden. It was powerful, but the flow was streamlined, much more controlled than the errant Warden. It felt human, but the taint of death curled Ulquiorra’s tongue. It turned his focus sharp, idle enjoyments falling away as he continued to walk towards Dresden’s energy. He dropped a twenty into the busker’s cup as he passed.

Her bright ‘thank you’ was ignored as he crossed the street, smoothly avoiding a man giving out miniature Bibles and speaking about the joy of Christ. He gently nudged a child back under their parent’s arm when the clumsy thing stumbled into his path and wished intensely for the empty halls of Hueco Mundo in a flash of near jittery irritation.

The controlled energy met Dresden, but no flare indicated that a battle was incoming.

Perfect.

Ulquiorra found that most humans were easily shamed into compliance when with company. Judging by the ripple in Dresden’s energy, he held the other person in high regard. With heroic types that nearly always meant a shared ideology, so the arrancar could count on whoever it was they also strived to protect the ‘innocent’.

He could be innocent

No, more attainable.

He could _pretend_ to be innocent

No, that would require a certain ability to emote that he lacked.

He could convince them that Tanya and Omar didn’t deserve death?

Satisfactory.

_‘Mazzio’s’_ said the sign hanging next to the door of the restaurant. It was a little hole in the wall, but the smell of fresh bread and garlic washed over Ulquiorra as soon as he opened the door. The young woman behind the stand greeted him in a soft but friendly voice, and her cheerful expression strained when he didn’t return her smile.

“I am here to meet someone,” he explained succinctly, even though the words made his jaw vibrate unpleasantly. It wasn’t the time to be overwhelmed, even if he hadn’t had a break from the ceaseless _noise_ of the living for a little over a week.

He had a job to do.

It was a job that could lead to him spilling enough blood and exterminating enough blood-bags that it might sooth his ruffled feathers.

“Oh, can you—,” she started.

Ulquiorra brushed past her and into the dining room as he caught sight of his targets. Dresden looked like an awkward spider, legs bent in odd shapes to fit properly under the slightly battered table. Across from him sat a woman in an ill-fitted gigai. Ulquiorra barely blinked at the half-there shade of a much older woman peeking from the slight girl’s dark eyes.

“Mr. Dresden,” he said and couldn’t bring himself to raise his voice even as the wizard seemed to not hear him. His energy rolled under his skin and in a flash everything was _grating:_ the flickering of useless human souls, the air thick with the scent and sound of people.

Ulquiorra clamped down on his urge to just _smother_ it all out of existence. He had more control than that.

He wasn’t some base _animal_.

“ _Mr. Dresden.”_

The entire restaurant went quiet.

A little louder than he intended but it accomplished his mission. Dresden jumped a little in his seat and turned as his companion focused sharp eyes on the arrancar.

“Schiffer?”

“We need to talk.”

They ended up on a park bench a couple of blocks away, the newly introduced Captain Luccio having suggested they take their leave. The scowls of the wait staff and general unhappiness projected from the kitchen hadn’t promised a nice, peaceful meal.

Dresden grumbled about having left the arrancar with his number for a reason, but had gone along with the suggestion regardless. Ulquiorra had known better that to try and talk to the man over a phone considering the sensitive topic he wanted to discuss.

The woman kept back as he talked to Dresden and the arrancar had the capacity to be vaguely grateful that he didn’t have to deal with speaking to both humans at the same time. His tone was curt as he asked the wizard to introduce him to John Marcone.

Dresden sputtered.

“I’m not taking you to that guy!”

Ulquiorra blinked languidly, trying to focus only on the texture of the carefully curated tree behind the other man. He didn’t flinch when a woman let out an uproarious laugh at something her companion said as they walked down the path near the bench, hand-in-hand.

The arrancar rolled his tongue against the roof of his mouth deliberately, preparing to talk. It almost felt like trying to stop the earth from spinning, for all the effort it took him to part his lips.

He just wanted it to be _quiet_.

“I am left with no other options but the Gentleman, Mr. Dresden,” the Warden opened his mouth, only to be silenced with a burning glare, “I refuse to take part of your White Council, which I thought my unusual heritage would bar me from, regardless. The Fae Courts refuse my employees for unknown reasons and I have Red Court vampires targeting me and mine.”

He folded his hands in his lap, deliberately keeping them in view. He would never lose so much control as to strangle the frustrating man, but it steadied him, having his hands in sight.

“I have the resources to negotiate with the man.”

Dresden slumped back and let out a weary sigh, rubbing his hand over his face.

“I don’t want to say you don’t. But Schiffer, trying to play Marcone is the literal _worst idea ever.”_

Luccio stepped up beside Dresden’s form, barely taller than the man sitting down.

“Not to mention that the use of magic to kill is illegal and I can think of nothing that the Baron wouldn’t like more than a magical hitman,” the woman said.

Her voice wasn’t threatening, but the implication was there. The use of mortal magic to kill other humans was illegal and if Ulquiorra’s research was correct, it also incurred the death penalty.

Irritation throbbed at Ulquiorra’s fingertips.

“I do not plan to become a _dog,”_ he nearly hissed, holding onto his composure by a hairsbreadth. A part of him whispered that he should just kill them, easy as anything and be done with it. “I have other things to offer, I believe they would be of interest to the Baron.”

Dresden grimaced and folded his elbows on his knees.

“Trust me, unless you have a magical wish-granting coin hidden in your shoe? There’s nothing much else that you can offer a guy like Marcone.”

Luccio’s expression turned a little soft as she inserted herself once again.

“Your heritage isn’t a problem when it comes to the White Council, Mr. Schiffer. You show the ability to control energy and form it, when most of mixed heritage only inherit the traits of their inhuman parent when it comes to abilities.”

She stood tall, the shade of her spirit flickering and nearly blocking out the image of the slight and pretty girl she wore.

“Though it is unusual in feel,” she conceded wryly, “it doesn’t exclude you from our willingness to help you.”

Ulquiorra closed his eyes.

“To join your war? Lay down my life for a panel of men and woman I know nothing of and see me only as a game piece?”

He deliberately waved a dismissive hand, ignoring her furrowed brow.

“I have had enough of that in my lifetime. Make a circle Dresden.”

The wizard gaped gormlessly.

“What?”

His energy flared ever so slightly before he could stop it, displacing the air with a small pop of pressure that had Luccio gathering her power in a heartbeat. The bracelet at Dresden’s wrist swelled with promise as the man funneled energy into it.

Ulquiorra held up his hands peaceably. He felt annoyance at his own slip-up, giving in to the weak need to be gone from everything.

“I lost my temper, I apologize. I only want to show you that I have something to offer the Baron for the safety of my friends, who are in more danger the longer I stay out.”

The ready look on Dresden’s face relaxed into something tinged with guilt.

“Just a circle?”

Ulquiorra stood and motioned the wizard to follow him into a small copse of trees. Luccio trailed them closely, still battle-ready.

“Anything that is meant to block me from getting to you.”

Dresden’s eyes were sharp as he moved to stand across from the arrancar, shaking his bracelet down his wrist and funneling power. A shield rippled into existence, all but invisible to the naked eye.

“I’ve gotta ask Schiffer, is this going to hurt?”

Ulquiorra gave him a flat look and shook his head. The pain had always come after, when he systematically ripped apart whatever creature had dared to trespass and cross his temper. He was sure he was going to distress both of the humans, however, which would be balm on his weary soul. He had to find some way to relieve his pent-up stress, after all.

“Stay still,” he ordered as he stepped to the edged of the wizard’s shield.

Casually he poked a finger through the weave of energy. It sliced through like a hot knife through butter and Dresden yelped as his shield unraveled. The edges of the energy sparked across the grass, a heatless fire.

“Holy shit,” he breathed as Luccio hurried over, eyes bright and fascinated.

Ulquiorra didn’t give them time to talk, only saying,

“I can do that to any barrier, I will visit again at a later date,” before turning and walking away. He made it onto the dusk painted streets before he heard a voice calling.

“Wait!”

Dresden panted slightly as he caught up to Ulquiorra’s rapid stride.

“How—you want to offer _that_ to Marcone?”

“Yes.”

Dresden put a hand to his forehead and looked at the sky, as if beseeching a higher power.

“You can’t, you just can’t,” he said, “with something like that he—,”

Ulquiorra held up a finger.

“I plan only to offer a favor, not servitude Dresden. I believe I’ve illustrated my point on that many times with you.”

The man shot him an annoyed look at the interruption.

“One time is more than enough with that guy, that kind of power, it’s dangerous.”

The arrancar simply stared at the other man, hoping his disdain for the wizard’s over the top reaction was showing.

“If you have a better offer, I would be more than happy to take it.”

The wizard’s shoulders slumped. For all of his foolishness the Warden was a smart man, he knew that he couldn’t offer protection for Ulquiorra’s changelings.

“I’ll help, but I want in on it.”

The arrancar felt frustration seep across his lungs.

“What.”

Dresden loomed and Ulquiorra glared.

“That’s a dead useful skill you have, but if you’re going around gunning for Reds I want in. This is my town and Tanya doesn’t deserve this kind of heat.”

The wizard knew Tanya personally?

Curious.

He’d have ask her about it later.

“Fine,” he bit out, short.

Dresden paused in the middle of his next sentence.

“Wow, that was easier than I expected,” he laughed shaking his head as Ulquiorra turned onto a side street, focused on returning to the _Lady._

The wizard muttered something to himself as he watched the arrancar leave, a crooked smile twisting his lips. With a sigh the man stuck his hands in the pockets of his duster and made his way down a different street.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry has so much going on right now and Ulquiorra is only adding to his stress. Luccio and the White Council can't afford to send protection for the prospective wizards friends if they don't get anything out of it, ergo non-option. The barrier thing just jumped Luccio's jacks and Ulquiorra just stirred a pot thats going to get him in even hotter water than he expected. WOuld you guy's like a Harry POV, tbh his side of things is SO MUCH funnier. Poor guy.  
> Also Ulquiorra is waaaay overstimulated right now. No way to kill anything without getting in trouble, people living in his space, and new stresses on top of all the usual intense experience of hearing, smelling, feeling. Yeah he's gonna steal his blanket right off Tanya and curl up for at least half a day staring at a blank wall with his noise cancelling headphones.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'sup.

“If you would just—,”

“Hey don’t—,”

The sound of fabric ripping.

Omar collapsed to his knees, staring at the remnants of sheer cloth in his hands.

Ulquiorra looked up from his book, assessed the situation and wisely chose to evacuate to the kitchen. Tanya reached a trembling hand towards his retreating back, only then seeming to realize the fabric stretched between her fingers had a twin in Omar’s grasp.

She began sweating, turning slowly to look down on her friend’s bowed head.

Ulquiorra reached into the drawer near the sink, its contents shifting and clanking as he tugged it open. Among the miscellaneous screws and dollar store toys he unearthed a pair of headphones.

He’d just turned on a mellow Spanish piece on the mandolin when the screaming started. He clicked the volume until the sweet sound of plucked strings drowned out the sounds of his employees bickering.

He flipped open his book and took a seat at the island, feet tucked neatly between the rungs at the bottom. _The 5 Love Languages_ had a gaudy name and cover, but Ulquiorra found it quite informative. He leaned his chin on his palm as Gary Chapman explained, in detail, how to communicate affection on a human level.

He was halfway through a paragraph on verbal validation when his changelings came barreling into the kitchen. He shifted his gaze as he watched Tanya try to keep Omar’s suddenly clawed hands away from her throat. She seemed to be attempting to reason with the nymph-hybrid, which, going by the man’s redoubled efforts, was failing miserably.

Vein pulsing on her temple, she reached behind her and after much scrambling—including knocking down Ulquiorra’s meticulously ordered spice rack, she found a hanging saucepan. The soft singing in the arrancar’s ears rose and fell, dulcet as he watched a bottle of turmeric roll over the tiles.

When Tanya’s hand made contact with the handle she brought it around in a mighty swing that would have made and baseball star proud—thoroughly braining Omar over the head and knocking him on his ass.

The talons on his fingers scored the tile deep, leaving blackened marks on the flooring.

Tanya used the dazed moment to scramble over to Ulquiorra, hiding behind him. He gave a nearly inaudible sigh as he set his book on the counter facedown and tugged the headphones from his ears.

“—didn’t _mean_ to, its just a scarf, _goddamn.”_

A deep clicking snarl rose from his usually sweet-natured employee’s lips.

“Tan—I got that fabric from _Lady Aryn_.”

Tanya paled.

“You mean—,”

“ _Yes_.”

Like a mirage, the sharp teeth that had taken residence in Omar’s mouth receded along with the wickedly curved talons violating Ulquiorra’s floor.

“What’s the problem?”

Tanya jerked, her hands leaving Ulquiorra’s shoulders.

“Boss—its, I mean—how the _fuck_ did I even rip it?”

Omar dragged himself up to the island’s level, moaning as he pressed his cheek to the marble.

“The piece was supposed to make whoever wore it ‘shine with the beauty of sunlight’—nothing of winter could touch it or it’d lose its power.”

Tanya covered her mouth with her hands.

“ _Shit—_ I’m so sorry ‘Mar.”

Ulquiorra clapped his hands, letting the sound echo.

“Interesting conflict resolution,” he complimented, getting strange looks—nonetheless he bulled on, “are you both done packing?”

“No,” Omar answered mulishly, “you haven’t even left to negotiate, Boss.”

Ulquiorra only frowned slightly.

“I don’t see how that’s relevant.”

Omar groaned and threw his arms up like an upset child, stomping out of the kitchen. Tanya winced at the thump of his heels on the hard flooring.

“You could have been a little less blunt, Boss.”

Ulquiorra checked his phone for the time.

“How so?”

Tanya sighed and took a seat next to him, leaning her elbow on the marble slab in front of them.

“Everything’s just a little stressful right now—y’know? Omar and I aren’t really meant to share space for this long and you don’t really tell us what’s happening with you.”

Ulquiorra tapped idle fingers on the cover of his book, staring into the fuchsia shades of the background. It hadn’t occurred to him that there might be more problems to their cohabitation than clashing personalities.

“Do your opposite natures repel?”

Tanya rattled her chair as she repositioned.

“Kind of? We’re part human, so it’s not too bad—it’s not ideal—are you sure you can’t just leave us on our own?”

She shifted, tapping her nails on the counter.

“Marcone is bad news Boss. We don’t really feel like you need to go to this much trouble just for us.”

He gave her a questioning look—or as much of one as he could make.

She frowned.

“We’ve been taking care of ourselves since we were kids—I might not be strong enough to take on the Reds but I’m a dab hand at disappearing—same with Omar.”

Unacceptable; he told her so. He wouldn’t allow these bloodbags to uproot his human connections because of their uncaring greed. He’d raze their nests and destroy their very bloodlines if this mess got any more out of hand.

A wry smile pulled at her lips.

“Alright—sheesh, you’re like a dragon with his hoard,” she laughed.

She rose from her seat with a groan and cracked her neck in one smooth movement.

“I’ll go help Omar with his packing, have fun on your field trip with the Warden.”

His phone chose that moment to ring with the alarm, informing him that he needed to leave to meet with Harry Dresden.

Tanya grinned as she passed through the kitchen entryway.

“Always on point with the timing,” she murmured to herself.

Ulquiorra felt his own lips quirk faintly, amusement running a warm path down his spine. He turned off his phone and dropped it in the junk drawer with his headphones. It’d be useless in the presence of the wizard and his barely controlled aura.

He didn’t bother picking up the kitchen; Omar would feel more than guilty enough clean it up while Ulquiorra was gone.

With the bar closed for the day, he was able to make his way downstairs and through the door with minimal fuss. He only paused to grab his gray peacoat and throw it loosely over his sheer dress-shirt. Then he made his way into the chill of the evening.

The wizard had called him after their initial meeting to postpone the introduction to Marcone until the day after the next, citing a consultation with the Chicago PD. Annoyed, the arrancar had conceded that they couldn’t meet the mob boss immediately, but convinced the wizard to call him and set up the meet as soon as possible.

Two days later he was staring at the doors of a rather upscale sex-club. He took a moment to read the sign by the door: a gym then, but also a den of prostitutes.

Interesting.

He turned his senses away from the writhing energies of the humans deliberately. It was bad enough when he had to listen to the gossip and sexual antics of his fellow Espada back when he served under Aizen. Somehow, witnessing humans be so disgusting was _worse._

The cracking, writhing energy of Dresden approached, helping to block out the sensations from within the club. He also brought with him the smell of blood and despair. Ulquiorra breathed in the familiar scent and felt the blurry edges of what must be nostalgia wash over him.

Where, exactly, had the wizard been consulting?

“Hey,” Dresden greeted awkwardly, head ducked and thoroughly failing to diminish his own presence.

Ulquiorra nodded in reply, before gesturing to the door.

That made the wizard snort.

“Don’t worry, we’re in the right place.”

That really wasn’t the worry Ulquiorra was focused on. He’d sensed a presence that felt incredibly similar to a shinigami and hoped Dresden had noticed as well. The abysmal sensing ability of the people in this dimension was incredibly vexing.

“There’s a creature of death in there,” he prompted the man.

Dresden turned a surprised, suspicious look on him while he rummaged around his wallet.

“I always though of Marcone as more of a soul-sucking type, but close enough,” he joked.

Ulquiorra closed his eyes briefly and definitely didn’t think of another man, apathetic until he was spitting quips and insults every which way. The color blue paired with lime still made his fingers twitch in memory.

“Dresden,” he said flatly as the man finally unearthed what looked like a credit card, “there is a psychopomp in the building.”

He gestured, just in case the Warden thought he was referring to some other structure.

Dresden paused, his hand on the door.

“Well—I guess we know Gard is here at least.”

Ulquiorra narrowed his eyes.

“Are you not alarmed? There is very little reason for such a thing to be here unless they’re needed.”

A shinigami only appeared in the presence of death and wandering souls. No ghosts clung to the earth in the area, so the psychopomp must be there for an imminent death.

“Believe me, it’s not a problem kid.”

Then he opened the door and swaggered in.

“Kid?” Ulquiorra asked as he followed, oddly insulted. He was a terrible beast from beyond the veil of death; he was not a _kid_.

Dresden ignored him and strode up to the reception desk to converse with the man on guard. Ulquiorra could pick out the concealed weapons easily in the line of his arms and the position of his spine.

Marcone must be a cautious man if he had the reception armed so heavily.

“No weapons,” the man grumbled, eyes on Dresden’s staff.

That led to a brief inane argument about the wizard’s ‘walking stick’, which ended with Dresden handing over all his weapons anyway. Ulquiorra only lifted his coat and turned, demonstrating his own lack of recognizable weaponry when the guard turned to him. He was pretty sure his pants were a gift from Omar; they clung to his thighs like a second skin.

Murcielago pulsed at his throat, smug.

“Thanks Tiny,” Dresden quipped as they were led to a private elevator, he waved sarcastically at the guard as the doors closed.

Dresden grimaced and stuck his hands in his pockets, clearly uncomfortable with his lack of weaponry.

“Alright Schiffer, now for the game plan.”

Ulquiorra ticked his eyebrow.

Dresden waved his hands.

“No insult to your—well, everything, but Marcone doesn’t really take kindly to people coming around and demanding things from him.”

He would if he knew what was good for him.

“Let me open up the talking—I’ll work the angle and hopefully I can get you out of this in one piece. Same for Tanya and Omar.”

Ulquiorra stared at the back of Dresden’s head and came to the regrettable conclusion that the human somehow thought the arrancar was putting himself in danger. Out of youthful foolishness if Ulquiorra was reading the man correctly.

Old habits demanded he rip out one of the man’s kidneys for such an arrogant assumption; Dr. Gary Chapman advised accepting the help offered, as it was a human indicator of care.

Ulquiorra found a middle ground.

“I will speak for myself Warden Dresden,” he said, stepping so he was shoulder to bicep with the ridiculous stork of a man, “your concern is noted—but I can take care of myself.”

Dresden released a thunderous sigh of exasperation.

“Look—,”

The elevator doors opened with a gargled ring as the speakers were overwhelmed with feedback.

“Hello—welcome to Executive Priority,” greeted a pretty girl by the door, smiling sunnily.

Ulquiorra was momentarily distracted by the light color of her hair combined with her almond shaped eyes. He tore his attention away, and berated himself for being drawn in for even a second.

Dresden greeted the woman as his gaze wandered over her for only a moment. The way he forcefully snapped his eyes away told Ulquiorra it hadn’t exactly been a threat assessment. He wouldn’t stand so close to her as she led them past older men grunting over exercise equipment if it had been.

The grace of her movements and the way she carried her weight showed no small experience in fighting, if not martial arts.

Ulquiorra could be moved by human strength as surely as a worm might fell an oak by main force, but the wizard couldn’t be nearly as resilient. The folds of his power didn’t envelope him in protective force the way they should, only his duster really had any enchantments in it as far as the arrancar could see.

They were led to the back offices, to a door made of cheap shining wood. The hollow sound it made when the young woman knocked confirmed the arrancar’s suspicion.

Before the girl could say anything, Dresden reached past her and forced the door open. He courted an elbow in the diaphragm for the action, but the woman restrained herself at the last second.

“Olly-Olly Oxen Free!” The wizard sang merrily as he stepped over the threshold, right into the domain of the psychopomp near the back of the room. The arrancar followed close on his heels.

Ulquiorra barely acknowledged the nondescript man sitting at the desk as he met the gaze of the woman standing to the right of the table.

Her eyes widened before narrowing; deathly power leaked into the air.

He repositioned, form becoming deceptively casual as he stuck a thumb in his front pocket and turned his body to present a smaller target.

“—Mister Dresden who’s your guest?”

While he and the woman—Gard? Stared each other down Dresden and the man who could only be Marcone had bantered back and forth. The only other person in the room was a red-haired man, who watched Ulquiorra and Gard with a hand resting casually inside his jacket.

“Ulquiorra Schiffer,” the Espada provided, before the wizard could open his mouth.

He reluctantly turned from the biggest threat in the room.

“I’ve come here to negotiate a contract.”

In a quick, nearly imperceptible movement, Marcone’s eyes flickered to Gard.

The woman moved and like a mirror Ulquiorra moved with her, smoothly giving ground and navigating around the bright fountains of power that flared in the floor as the woman stepped.

Dresden grunted as he moved out of the arrancar’s way, looking discomfited. The woman’s spiritual pressure wasn’t as strong as a Captain’s or even a Lieutenant’s, but shinigami were made to subdue Hollows. Any one of the relatively weak pockets of power in the room could be a clever trap.

He wasn’t in any position to bring all of his strength into play, which would only complicate any form of confrontation. Killing everyone in the building would scuttle his plan before it even began.

Marcone smiled, slow and predatory as the woman leaned over to whisper in his ear.

“There is no need to be afraid Mr. Schiffer—Ms. Gard doesn’t bite.”

Ulquiorra felt his eyes narrow.

“It is not fear that moves me.”

Marcone expression told of how little he believed that assertion.

“Take a seat Mr. Dresden, Mr. Schiffer,” he gestured to the seats before his desk.

The wizard only glared and crossed his arms, refusing. Ulquiorra had no such compunctions, sensing no traps in the chairs.

Ulquiorra sat, hoping to curry a small amount of favor by obeying the human power dynamics.

Marcone flicked through the papers on his desk, not really reading anything before addressing the arrancar.

“Ulquiorra Schiffer: owner of _The Lady’s Heart_ ,” it wasn’t a question, “Mr. Dresden has given me the impression that you’re here to negotiate a sale.”

Dresden’s lips tightened, but he had no chance to talk.

“If I had wanted to sell my bar I would have negotiated with the fool you sent to try and steal my property,” Ulquiorra corrected the man dryly, “I am here for a different reason, as you well know Mr. Marcone.”

The wizard slowly drew a hand over his face, before setting his arms on the back of the empty chair. He had the look of a man waiting for an inevitable and flashy train wreck; resigned to the chaos.

Marcone’s eyes tightened ever so slightly.

The man clasped his hands on his desk.

“You certainly have a reason, but you have little to offer me besides your property—unless you can produce something of equal value.”

Ulquiorra placed his hands on the arms of the chair, leaning back into a relaxed position. Gard bristled ever so slightly, unnoticeable except for the slightest ripples in her energy.

“I can offer many other things of value—but what should interest you most is my service.”

Interest flickered in Marcone’s gaze. If Ulquiorra had not spent most of his life making his own expression as stony as possible, he wouldn’t have noticed.

“Your service?”

“Yes, I can destroy any barrier I wish—any barrier _you_ wish, once.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

Dresden spoke up.

“Believe it—he can rip through magic as easily as a Warden’s sword.”

It looked like it pained him to admit it. Marcone’s gaze flickered to Gard again.

“It’s possible,” the woman admitted, “he feels… _Hollow.”_

Ulquiorra’s ears twitched as the word garbled like static audio before coming to a recognizable sound. It indicated a certain linguistic drift, a name that had no true equivalent to the languages the arrancar knew. How fascinating that the closest word was the truth of his nature. Dresden and the red-haired man looked confused, and Marcone only waited.

Gard crossed her arms and glared at Ulquiorra.

“How such a creature could mate with a human and produce offspring is beyond me—but they are known to eat through magic and life like acid through paper.”

Ulquiorra thought of the Hogyoku and all of Aizen’s failed experiments, of the piles of bloody corpses that poisoned the sands of Hueco Mundo.

“With great effort, I assure you.”

Marcone turned the intensity of his gaze upon Ulquiorra again. It made something in the arrancar tighten; the calculating weight reminded him vividly of his former lord.

“You offer your service? For what?”

Suddenly the smell of sand and despair filled the room, distracting Ulquiorra. It smelled…it smelled like Hueco Mundo. None of the humans noticed the scent, but Gard regarded his wandering gaze with suspicion.

He answered almost absently, eyes trailing around the room as he tried to find the source of the smell.

“Only once,” he reminded the mob boss, “for the safety of my employees while I take care of a problem that puts them at risk.”

Marcone’s fingers beat a brief, controlled tattoo on his desk, but his reply was lost when Ulquiorra saw them. Faint glittering particles rising from the pocket of Dresden’s coat; sand. Not just any sediment, but the reishi rich sand of Hueco Mundo: created from the petrified remains of trees that made up the white artifices that dotted the endless dessert.

He sensed it only moments before it happened, the echoes of a scream before it became a true Hollow’s roar. Then the cracking, liquid sound of rapid growth and rending flesh.

“Get down!”

The world burst open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jeezus christi this thing is turning into a monster. Also I accept any and all concrit and am now actively looking for a beta so any comers welcome, I am also volunteer to help beta if anyone needs it.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I'm finding my groove again, but time will tell if finals week doesn't kick my ass to the curb.

Ulquiorra grunted as his hands came up to catch the gaping maw before it could close around him. The thunder of guns rattled in his ears as the humans and woman shot at the creature that had leapt from Dresden’s pocket.

“ _Forzare!”_

The arrancar’s shoes skidded on the carpeting and one of the enormous fangs in his hands _sliced into his palm._

“What—,”

Then he was flying as the snakelike creature writhed, careening into the plaster of the office. He didn’t go through the wall, which pointed to a truly pitiful amount of strength from the Hollow in the room. Yet, his palm was bleeding sluggishly.

His hierro was nearly impenetrable, such a low-level piece of trash should never have the strength to make him bleed. He caught a glimpse of the creature’s body as he shook off dust and carefully removed his jacket. The entirety of its hide was white, not the bone-plate of an adjuchas class Hollow, but the slimy exposed muscle of a lower creature—barely born.

“ _Fuego,”_ Dresden bellowed when it became increasingly obvious that the pistols Marcone and his people wielded were less than useless. The bullet wounds all healed nearly as soon as they appeared, bubbling with viscous white fluid. Gard ducked out of the room through a side door as the redhead built like a Menos class arrancar covered her retreat.

The creature’s tail whipped through the air and nearly beheaded Marcone as he rolled out of the way in an impressive display of agility.

Ulquiorra tossed his jacket into the desk chair that had rolled to the back of the room and walked into the heat of the conflagration that tried to take hold of the monster. The fire alarm started screaming as he used a foot to kick the creature through the wall and into the hallway. His reiatsu protected his shirt and pants from the flame, but the Hollow wasn’t so lucky, squirming and calling in its two-toned voice.

The red haired man came behind him with a boxy gun in his meaty palms and a grimace on his face.

“What the ever-loving fuck?”

Ulquiorra only pointed at the creature’s featureless mask, noting the lack of distinctive markings or coloration. All it consisted of was a mouth of sharp teeth—with no flat secondary set, the arrancar noted.

_Odd._

“Aim to break the mask, it—,”

Gard passed by them with a roar, a broadsword leading, and sliced into the writhing creature. She neatly bisected it forehead to chin and with one last pitiful scream it dissolved into particles.

Ulquiorra crossed his arms.

“Or that.”

Ulquiorra stepped forward as his senses informed him the entire building had been evacuated and the sprinklers sputtered above the flickering embers left by Dresden’s spell.

Marcone and the wizard started bickering behind him—or maybe conversing? They didn’t seem to be able to talk to each other in any other way.

“What was that Dresden?” Marcone asked, tone deadly.

Ulquiorra sifted through the sand left by the Hollow’s disintegration, looking for the small star lighting under the grains. It was unusual—a slain Hollow disappeared into the air, it’s spirit separating as its purified and leaving no trace. There shouldn’t be anything left.

“The hell if I know,” the wizard snapped, sounding the slightest bit shaky.

Ulquiorra picked up the source of the energy as he passed a glance at the man. The wizard was pale, leaning against a wall for support and his reiatsu had slowed from its usual dammed roar to barely a trickle.

Ulquiorra looked to the object in his hand and felt something cold brush over his spine.

It was a sliver of bark.

“Going by the hole in your coat Mr. Dresden, it is more than safe to assume that _you_ were the one who brought it in.”

It wasn’t the kind a human would recognize, it looked more like a sliver of pale stone to the naked eye. It was familiar to Ulquiorra as his own hand, though. It was a sliver from a tree of Hueco Mundo, the petrified remains of the great plants that flowered in the deepest reaches of the desert away from even the wane light offered by the moon and stars over the sands.

Dresden coughed raggedly.

“I’m wasn’t exactly expecting a Nevernever creature to leap out of my coat _pocket_ , Marcone.”

“You should have known then; I do not appreciate you bringing something so obviously dangerous _here.”_

“I didn’t know you were suddenly an expert on magic, Marcone—that thing didn’t have a lick of energy in it before now.”

It felt like a part of him, Ulquiorra realized, almost like he was holding a piece of his own energy in his hand. No wonder that half formed creature had been able to cut into him; it had been made from his own reiatsu.

_But how?_

“What is that?” Gard questioned, sword over her shoulder as she loomed over Ulquiorra’s crouched form.

The thing bubbled in response and tried to reform, sucking greedily on Ulquiorra’s energy before he crushed it into dust. Then he let a restrained bala burn in his hand and incinerate the rest.

Gard shifted from her defensive stance as the movement stopped and there was a click as the large man beside her lowered his gun.

“Trouble,” he iterated with an irritated glance at his now black nails. His glamour repaired itself immediately, flushing the skin to a more human paleness rather than the corpse pallor of his natural form.

The sand on the ground began to dissolve until it was invisible to the naked eye, the reishi dense particles were consumed as Ulquiorra pulled them to him.

“Dresden!”

The wizard fell to the floor in a dead faint, energy fluttering weakly as Marcone loomed and looked annoyed.

“At least he’s quiet,” the redhead muttered and Marcone shot him an irritated glance.

“Ms. Gard, I believe Dresden is having some kind of fit.”

Ulquiorra stood and made his way over to where the wizard had started to convulse. Marcone was kneeling beside him and doing some kind of first aid, while Gard squinted at the wizard, muttering as she searched through a bag of stones imbued with writing and power.

Ulquiorra narrowed his eyes when he sensed it; under the rapidly disappearing rush of Dresden’s energy was a familiar presence—a Hollow presence. It was centered in his upper thigh, right where his pocket had been resting before the odd Hollow had formed not a few moments earlier.

“Something is destroying his energy,” the psychopomp said, staring down at a scattering of rocks she had thrown next to the man’s head.

Ulquiorra sighed softly.

“Eating it, you mean,” he corrected as he knelt next to the lanky wizard.

Marcone glance at him sharply.

“You know what this is?”

Ulquiorra hummed, low as he traced the path of the growing creature under Dresden’s skin. His finger roamed over the man’s stomach and lower pelvis as pale tendrils spread and punctured skin to reach for him. Marcone sucked in a breath as Ulquiorra pulled away.

“Not exactly, but I have seen things similar.”

Most parasitic Hollows were opportunists, barely more intelligent than slugs. This creature was weak, no more than a fragment of another powerless parent

He wouldn’t be able to burn it out, which left only one option.

His nails were much sharper than their flat appearance suggested, nothing in comparison to the talons of his Resurrección, but more than enough to cut through denim and flesh. The wizard arched and his eyes fluttered in an effort to wake when Ulquiorra opened the skin of his thigh.

He pressed down on the wizard’s hip.

“Hold him,” he snapped.

Gard moved to hold down the man’s shoulders as the redheaded man pinned the wizard’s legs.

“What are you doing?” Marcone asked.

Blood pooled around the man’s leg, but not too much as Ulquiorra carefully avoided arteries.

“The infection is eating his energy to grow and sustain itself. To remove it you simply must make an exit and give it something more appetizing to eat.”

“Yourself,” the man at Dresden’s legs muttered.

Ulquiorra didn’t acknowledge him, only letting his glamour peel away from his hand, which he waved over the wound he had made over the center of the shard’s growth.

The reaction was immediate.

Dresden jerked with a bellow of pain as he was forced into the waking world. The white parasite leapt from the hole in his leg and latched onto the arrancar in a spray of red.

It burned into nothing as Ulquiorra devoured it the moment it touched his skin, his greater power crushing the parasitic growth into nothing with nary a flicker of effort.

Marcone cursed quietly as he clenched a hand over the wound on the wizard’s leg to stem the bleeding.

“Dresden be calm,” Gard said as she prevented Dresden from jerking into sitting position, “we’ve just removed a dangerous parasite.”

“By ripping open my leg?” he groaned as the redheaded man began stitching him with the first aid kit he’d removed from a cabinet. He did so rather reluctantly under the order of his boss.

“It was the only way,” Ulquiorra informed him as he helped the man sit up slowly.

Dresden glared at him out of the corner of his eye, his gaze roving over the arrancar’s bloody hand.

“I’m sure it was,” he grunted sourly.

Ulquiorra contemplated dropping the ungrateful man to the floor, before deciding against it.

His self-help books all agreed on one thing: use your words.

“I could have left your soul to be slowly devoured by a hungry parasite that would then possess your body to devour the souls of the people you love,” Ulquiorra offered flatly.

Dresden paled.

“No—that’s fine, I can get new jeans anytime.”

Marcone sat on the carpet, eyes glittering.

“You seem familiar with the creature that attacked us Mr. Schiffer.”

“That attacked me,” Ulquiorra corrected.

The man working on the wizard finished and sat back on his heels as Gard stood to make her way through the side door near the desk again. Her sword shone with power under the fluorescent lights of the office. The man stood to walk to another part of the room, trying to get his phone to work. By some miracle the thing hadn’t been fried by Dresden and with the wizard’s power so low it functioned well enough to connect a call.

Marcone conceded the point with a nod.

Dresden bulled in to the conversation with aplomb.

“Personally, I’d like an explanation.”

Ulquiorra raised on eyebrow.

“It is I who should be asking you that Dresden—how did you come across that shard?”

Nothing but the arrancar had been summoned from Hueco Mundo, besides that it was impossible for an artifice to survive in the mortal world, except under special circumstances. Without the support of the reishi rich environment of the Hollow World any artifact dissolved and lost cohesion.

The only exceptions were jureichi, of which Chicago fit the bill. Shards or slivers of a tree from Hueco Mundo could possibly be installed in a living tree on an energy nexus to create a _Jubokko_. Only, last time Ulquiorra had checked there hadn’t been a bloody battlefield in the city large enough to feed such a thing.

Without an environment of despair and bloodshed a Jubokko couldn’t take root. It’s parasitic spirit fruit couldn’t flower under any other circumstance. Ulquiorra had never personally encountered such things but the creature he’d exterminated fit the description in the texts he’d read in Aizen’s personal library.

Dresden hesitated, but answered under the glare of Marcone with a grimace.

“A crime scene—it was a real slaughterhouse, only thing not covered in blood was a pillar—,”

“A pillar?”

Not a tree?

Dresden shot him an irritated, bloodshot glance.

“Yeah—the feds were hitting walls so SI brought me in. The thing was completely inert, an artifact of some ritual if I had to guess,” he shrugged his shoulders as if to say ‘what can you do?’ “I took a sample to analyze.”

Macone stood, brushing his pants of dust and plaster.

“It seems it was less inert than you though,” he offered dryly.

Dresden sighed and shook his head.

“If it was active, it should have started draining me immediately, but it waited until I was right next to you,” he pointed to Ulquiorra, “you have an explanation?”

Ulquiorra knew immediately why; like calling to like, his reiatsu, even if it was suppressed, was more than enough to encourage the shard to fruit. It’d started feeding the moment Dresden had gotten close enough, only the arrancar hadn’t noticed due to the fact that the drain was so negligible.

Once it had enough energy it’d mindlessly tried to devour the largest energy signatures in the vicinity: Ulquiorra and Dresden respectively.

“I know of it,” he paused, not sure how to explain it without giving himself away. Explaining his presence would require more than a little time and might just drive the wizard to wholly deserved distraction, “it seems to be a fruit of a _Jubokko.”_

That got him puzzled looks and he sighed, irritated. A word with no equivalent in English then, at least not in any of his listeners’ lexicon.

“A tree,” he explained, “it feeds on the blood and souls that die in despair and then flowers. The fruits it produces become like what you saw earlier and when they feed enough they return to the tree to provide it what they devoured—then the cycle restarts.”

Shinigami burned out _Jubokko_ whenever they could. Whole villages of the human world had been destroyed in some cases—not to mention the fact that the tree could suborn other Hollows into doing it’s bidding.

Dresden frowned, contemplative.

“Dresden said it was a pillar that he saw,” Gard pointed out as the redheaded man spoke into a phone behind her. He seemed to be talking with some kind of authority, police or firemen.

Ulquiorra’s lips flattened as he thought.

“That,” _is unusual, odd, fascinating—a problem_ “is worrisome.”

Marcone’s sharp gaze cut into the arrancar.

“How so?”

The Espada stood and retrieved his coat from the back of the room. It was slightly wet from the now shut down sprinkler system, but mostly undamaged. He folded it over his arm.

“It means that the _Jubokko_ is underground and what Dresden came across was only an offshoot.”

He moved to stand before Marcone.

“Our negotiation was cut short—might I suggest moving to a more comfortable location?”

Marcone raised one brow.

“My bar is fully furnished,” the arrancar offered, “and quite secure from and _Jubokko_ spawn.”

Marcone stared at him, gears working, before he smirked.

“By all means.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY THE PLOT IT RISES!!! Also Marcone might seem a little incautious here but see it from his perspective. He thinks Ulquiorra is desperate, Gard has indicated that the guy is reaching seeing as Marcone is his last option(they assumed the White council denied him and of course they know his people are changelings because the Lady is personal at this point in the inter-power pissing match over that block of Chicago), Not only that the guy is offering his services as a supernatural and everyone knows that shit is binding. MArcone is seeing a real juicy and powerful opportunity, even if Dresden had to go ruin it with his bullshit. Also giant tree that eats people under his city--no likey.


End file.
